


Sorry, He's Ours

by gilbeilschmidt



Series: PolyBeatles [3]
Category: The Beatles (Band)
Genre: Angst, Clubbing, Drinking, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Harassment, M/M, Sexual Harassment, Slurs, poor paul
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-27
Updated: 2019-05-27
Packaged: 2020-03-20 10:50:02
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,590
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18991171
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gilbeilschmidt/pseuds/gilbeilschmidt
Summary: John, Ringo, George and Paul go to a party in Hamburg. Paul doesn't have a great time.





	Sorry, He's Ours

The party was loud and flashy, hot, sweat slicked bodies grinded against one another. The bassline thumped, almost a booming noise. Everything was proving to be too much as John sighed exasperatedly, rubbing his eyes - he was tired and annoyed.

 

Many women had grinded up against him, trying to get off and (maybe, probably not) get him off, but it hadn’t worked, and the women had stalked off to find another unsuspecting man to fuck with. 

 

The first woman, from what he could recall, was blonde with big blue eyes (not that he could see her face properly, as she was  _ coated  _ in makeup), and had practically stuck her hand down his trousers but he’d pushed her off. She had glared at him for a second before trying the same with some other man, who accepted it gladly, tipping his head back and feeling her breasts. It was… a  _ weird  _ sight. Not that things like that didn’t usually happen in Hamburg, prostitutes walking around, drunk men being practically molested, and molesting others - but this, this made his heart hurt. He had no idea why. He wished he could walk up to George or Ringo and do just that, stick his hand down their trousers and wank them off.

 

Obviously, he couldn’t. Because that was queer, and being queer was illegal. 

 

Although he found himself wondering what it would be like to just walk up to them and kiss them as hard and as passionately as he could. 

 

John looked around. He could see George and Ringo dancing with a group of women (with the intention to  _ only dance,  _ although they didn’t seem to get that) and smiling secretly at each other, waiting for when they could get back to the hotel and, well, fuck. He knew Paul would enjoy that, as he certainly would.

 

Women grinding on them wasn’t too bad, when he thought about it. When they realised he wasn’t interested, they’d leave without another word (maybe a glare) and so it didn’t seem to last that long - it could be worse, he mused. He’d noticed a few men walking up and grabbing women’s breasts (one man had pulled up one of their shirts and ran off with it) or their arses and even though the women obviously didn’t seem to like it, it still happened. 

 

He was fairly sure a few women had been raped after being dragged off by men, but he didn’t really think about what could happen until he didn’t see them for a while. This had probably happened to a few men, too - being lured away. He wasn’t saying that men being raped or molested wasn’t as bad, because it was, but here at this club, the women seemed to be getting most of it. He still hated women putting their hands down his trousers. Wow, John really hated parties.

 

He didn’t realise how lost in thought he was until he felt a hand on his shoulder, “You alright, luv?” It was Ringo, who smiled at him softly. John merely nodded, wanting to just hug Ringo, but he was worried suddenly.

 

“Where’s Paul?” He asked, looking around the large club - he couldn’t see him, anywhere at all. Ringo shrugged, “Maybe he’s dancing with someone, I don’t know.”

“We should look for him.” John stated, taking Ringo’s hand as he dragged him off towards George, who was still dancing with those women, “We’re going to go find Paul. Come on.”

 

The youngest immediately followed after him.

 

The three looked everywhere in the club, literally everywhere. They had checked the toilets first. In the men’s toilets were two men making out against the sink (John felt happy for them, but then felt bad for ruining their mood) - “Hey lads, have you seen a man with a brown mop-top haircut, long eyelashes and the prettiest eyes?” He had asked, startling them enough to make them almost scream. They had stared at the three men until John spoke again, “It’s fine lads, we’re queer too.” They visibly relaxed. “Uh, no, we haven’t. Hope you find ‘im, though.” They thanked them and left.

 

Next was the ladies toilets. Luckily, there were no women actually in there (they would have given them a scare, three men barging into the women’s loo) and, unluckily, no Paul. Although, there was a pile of bras on the floor. Now, that confused Ringo, who voiced his concerns. John brushed it off as “girls will be girls”, and then they left.

 

And then they checked at the bar, where a few men were sat (big, burly men who could probably beat them all to pulps). John made Ringo talk to them (because he was scared, although he didn’t admit it) and they discovered that Paul had been seen, but they didn’t know where he went. There was also a comment about them being “worthless brits” but they decided to ignore it.

 

Where was he?

 

Next, they had asked a few women stood in the corner of the room. They were drunk, tired and obviously done with everyone’s shit - they found this out when they asked about Paul and all they got in response was a glare from each of the women. John retreated with his hands up in mock defense, making George roll his eyes and Ringo laugh. 

 

“Paul was pretty drunk last time we saw him, right?” George said, Ringo nodding in affirmation, “Maybe he went outside; left.” 

 

“Possibly. He could have gone out to smoke,” John noted.

 

The three left the club, sighing with relief as the cold night air rushed over their sweaty skin - it was very refreshing to be outside after so long. They didn’t see Paul at all. He wasn’t leaning up against a wall, smoking a ciggie as he usually would be, or sat on the pavement trying to relieve himself of a headache. No, he wasn’t in view at all.

 

“Let’s look around a bit, yeah?” Ringo suggested, raising his eyebrows as he heard a muffled (almost inaudible) scream from the nearest alleyway. John and George obviously heard it too, rushing to see what had happened. They slowly walked into the alleyway, cautiously looking back at the exit to make sure nobody was there, blocking it.

 

They walked further into the alleyway.

 

John stopped suddenly and covered his mouth in shock, hearing two whispers of “What is it, Johnny?” from either side of him, but all he could do was point a shaking finger at the cowering figure up against the wall. There were two figures. One was… one was Paul. Their Paul.

 

Paul was being pinned against the wall by a taller man, who was violently rutting up his hips up against him, looking for friction. Paul let out another muffled scream through the man’s hand (which was obviously covering his mouth and stopping any noise escaping him), to which the man responded with, “Shut up, slut,” as he unzipped his trousers and pulled them down roughly. 

 

John snapped out of the shock induced state he was in and lunged at the man, punching him square in the jaw, almost knocking him out. He started punching him over and over again, screaming out inaudible words, “Don’t ever touch Paul again!” He yelled at one point, and the response he got made him even angrier, “Oh, so that’s the slut’s name,” was said in a strong German accent. 

 

This didn’t anger just John, but George and Ringo too, who both began kicking him from where was on the concrete floor, “He is  **ours** and if you ever fucking touch him again I’ll kill you,” Ringo growled, spitting in his face, before kicking him again. The man wheezed, muttering an “okay”. 

 

The three turned back to Paul, who was now curled up in a ball on the floor, sobs wracking his small body and tears running down his beautiful face. No one had the right to hurt him like that. No one. 

 

John helped him up, embracing him, “It’s me, Paulie. It’s John,” He hugged him tight, “It’s me, Ringo and George, we’re all here.” Paul merely sobbed and hid his face against John’s chest. George and Ringo also embraced Paul, the four of them all hugging in a dark alleyway outside a  _ pulsing  _ club.

 

“Let’s get back to the hotel, okay?” John stroked Paul’s hair softly, trying his best to comfort him. The other Beatles nodded, pulling apart from one another. It didn’t seem that Paul could stand properly, his legs shaking as he almost fell to the floor, but George caught him before he could. 

 

They shared a look, “Paulie, baby, do you want one of us to carry you?” Paul nodded, his tear stricken face glistening in the moonlight, he looked so… so hurt. Because he was hurt, but… a different kind of hurt. The eldest Beatle immediately grabbed onto Paul, hauling him up - Paul wrapped his legs around his waist and hid his face in Ringo’s neck. 

 

On the way back the hotel, Paul carried on sobbing, only calming down a bit when Ringo started to rub his back lovingly and whisper to him. “It’s okay, baby, you’re safe now. We’re here to protect you.”

Albeit many people gave them dirty looks for being “a bunch o’ good for nothing queers”, they carried on, and made it back to the dingy hotel safely.

 

That night, they pushed the two beds together and all cuddled up to each other, a huddle of warmth and comfort and  _ love. _

 

Paul felt the best that he had all day.


End file.
